Tuesday, March 31, 2015

I feel guilty about pairing this furry calf print driving cap with the kind of sleek monochrome ensemble you'd see at a daytime red carpet event. The hat even appears to be a beret in these pictures (meaning that in the context of this blog post it is one) but actually it sports a modest leather bill on the other side and has overall 'train conductor aura.' And since its luxurious mink fur is spotted, you'd have to assume that whatever train a conductor wearing it is driving will drop off at the nearest farmstead, not film premiere. But of course I stripped it of whatever agri-chic potential it had by pairing it with leatherette pants and a blazer... shoulda coulda woulda. I live my life full of regrets. This accessorizing with a Valentino clutch purse instead of a hand hoe is supremely one of them.

Monday, March 30, 2015

If your past four weeks were anything like mine -- riddled with mood swings, spontaneous illness, indigent reserves of energy and ambition, bad luck and bad news -- you're ready to march the hell out of this month. Outfitted in my marching-band finest, I salute the very unlikely chance that April will bring leagues of celebration or at least an excuse for festivity... an occasion that does this feathered riding cap and saddle bag combo justice. My next investment is one of those huge drums the pros strap to their chest so I can parade around Rodeo Drive and play it like the Energizer Bunny. It is my unmistakable civic duty to play, not pay, homage to the great army generals who with valor and velvet defend the peoples' right to haute couture, Sergeant Saint Laurent and Colonel Kawakubo just to name a few.

Friday, March 27, 2015

Sooner or later this layering game will become a medical hazard and I'll have to trade my beloved bundles for bikinis. "Spring" in Vegas is hardly a happy time of year, my crippling depression aside, considering the blistering temperatures forthcoming as early as oh, NEXT WEEK. 98 degree average for April???? Sucking as much life out of this sweater and scarf as I can before either will put me in cardiac arrest. And those who know me can attest that I've already had enough hospital drama this month. In better news, I finally have my Adobe creative suite back!! Which means I don't have to cleverly layer filters like turtlenecks and cardigans and fringe shawls anymore... I can get back into the art of 'editing by number.' So much more precise! Like the perfect denim-purse denim-jeans pairing I'm rocking here, compliments to Louboutin and J Brand. For the record, I found these pants at a no-name thrift store for ONE BUCK. But they're designer???? I ask no questions. Only 'do you take Visa?'

Thursday, March 26, 2015

It's been decades -- lifetimes -- since I've visited my former world of lace veils and marble-sweeping gowns a la Lydia Deetz. I guess when you do something too intensely and too often, you get bored with the entire concept and lose interest in even the idea of reinventing it. So I let go of traditional gothic, of graveyard chic, of funeral fashion. Finally I've been reincarnated enough times to desire a return to my former signature. Here I am, cloaked in only the most depressing velvet and melancholy maxi lengths - a draping dress and feathered hat custom made by a fabulous UK artisan named Tonie. The old-school masterpiece I'm wearing here was especially made for me in all my glamorous goth glory. It's good to be back!

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Paisley. Velvet. Suede. Spring. Spring. By the look and feel of things, this season won't be any peppier than the others (which is not at all if you're me). But I'm hoping that great weather will bring greater incentives to walk outside and soak up some vitamin D for an extra 'happy kick' here and there. Maybe this time of year will change me in more ways than sun exposure... after all I am turning 22 in May (the 7th to be exact, just in case any of you wonderful people are considering throwing me a *surprise birthday party* wink wink). I don't really know how to go about processing my age because it doesn't match my lifestyle or attitude or expectation. As a kid, the '20s' seemed pretty old, sophisticated, fun, sexy. I imagined myself in a maxi skirt attending college in Boston, already working on my second or third novel in the courtyard grass. I thought I'd already be published, well-known, independent enough to live in a dorm room, disciplined enough to even get into an ivy league at all. Instead I'm wearing yoga pants, living with my mom, bitter about my academic failure and nowhere near publishing anything except this blog post. My net worth is even identical to what it was in sixth grade when my only expenses were Starburst and Orbit gum. I know life is full of surprises but I didn't realize they'd all be this... unflattering. My only solace, my constant respite, is clothes. They make me feel good about myself even when my track record doesn't.My mom and I arranged this outfit together. I find that including my mom in the process of arranging a look, choosing complementary locations, and photographing the whole shabang is SO much more gratifying than riding solo. I might be bossy but lord knows I could use a reality check every once in a while from mama-knows-best. ;)

Monday, March 23, 2015

I originally wanted to debut this look on a Friday since it's obvi Shabbat appropriate, but it was just too hard to keep my little pun hidden from the public like an esoteric Kabbalah prophecy. I'm proud. Of my Judaism and wordplay and chiffon harem pants. And tragically impractical skill at nailing the punk-rock-Rebbetzin hybrid aesthetic with a wide-brim hat, plaid checks, and Hebrew letter sweater clip. By the way -- those little shiny symbols that look like Pi followed by a curvy apostrophe? They spell the word "Chai" (nope, not a tea latte) which means life. Now ya know why we say "L'Chaim," to life, after clinking glasses of spiked grape juice (otherwise known as Manischewitz).

Not sure that I do or don't have a cause, although I am almost positive the green contacts I'm wearing in these photos afford me the semblance of a shiksa in costume. Or maybe my dysphoria is triggered by the fact that I actually look more Ashkenazi than ever... it's been a long month, bear with me people.

I've been sick on and off since the beginning of this year and it's taken a pretty major toll on my 'chai' outlook. You'd think I'd feel more grateful for those peaceful days in between agony and weakness, but strangely they leave me wondering what's the point of even waiting for them at all. The truth about these green contacts is that the last time I visited LA (nearly two months ago) they shriveled up in their travel case and were thrown away. Kinda like me. Exposed to air, immediately sucked dry of life and purpose, disposed by my own volition. Even more interesting and metaphorical is the nature of sickness -- sometimes it appears in foreign bodies that can be charged from the battlefield with artillery like antibiotics, antivirals. Other times, and more often than not at simultaneous times, that sickness appears in nebulous auras of chiaroscuro morbidity. An uncanniness in silhouette, safeguarded from any biologic weaponry through its infinitesimal form. No dimension, no parameters, just existence. Presence. Thereness. I'm resigned from waiting for days in between compromised states... I seek routines that feel like ripe momentums. Anybody can experience the weightless thrill between jumping and landing. I've already had my turn with that fleeting moment - it's called "falling." When will it be my turn to experience that fleeting moment everyone else endearingly calls life? I can hear them already, reminding me that this actually is life, chai. A series of merciless thuds.

Not that there's anything worth toasting to, but maybe today I'll order a tea latte.

Wednesday, March 4, 2015

Driving through downtown LV with my mom (both photographer and chauffeur), there wasn't a specific location I had in mind to background this technicolor jester look. Until we spotted The Wall. A shade of blue that perfectly, eerily, downright paranormally matched the hues in my vinyl cap and floral bomber. The alley was deserted, just as I like it, so I was free to ham and cheese it up in my platform Timb knockoffs and chainlink hula hoop earrings. There's physically no way to 'keep it together' in an outfit like this. So if you expect me to play it cool the next we're seen in public together, remind me to specifically leave the checkered harem pants at home. Although it will be hard, as they have a mind and a mouth of their own.